


The Weight of Living

by vespertineflora



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespertineflora/pseuds/vespertineflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of making out, being pinned down causes a flashback for Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Living

Steve’s mouth always felt so perfect against his. This had probably been Bucky’s favorite discovery since coming back, that Steve’s lips were soft and welcoming and sweet and that he was as eager to kiss Bucky as Bucky was to kiss him. 

The life he was slowly learning to live with Steve was so different from what his life had been before. Everything about it, the kisses especially, stood in such sharp contrast to the treatment Bucky had grown accustomed to that it had been hard to accept. Even nearly a year later, Bucky had to sometimes remind himself that Steve wasn’t one of his handlers. He was a friend, his best friend, the person he loved more than anything. Of course even in the height of being manipulated, Bucky had known that even if he’d known nothing else, but Bucky had to remember, had to relearn, what it meant to have a best friend, what it was like to be allowed to make decisions, and what it meant to be loved, to feel light and happy and warm.

Every day that passed let him become reaccustomed to the love Steve said he deserved; every day he remembered a little bit more about the man he’d once been as Bucky Barnes. Steve remained faithfully by his side through all of it and there was nothing Bucky was more grateful for.

Bucky’s mouth moved against Steve’s as they laid in bed, his hand resting lightly on Steve’s hip, fingers tracing along the exposed patch of flesh above the hem of his sweatpants. They’d been kissing like this for almost an hour now and were both lightly aroused, urgency only beginning to make its impact on their activities. They were only just starting to press into each other more and seek out friction.

Steve was ever the impatient one, though. It was honestly a miracle that they’d slowed down as much as they had (though it wasn’t like Bucky had ever complained about Steve’s pace), but it meant that Steve was still quick to act when things started getting hot, and he soon rolled up, straddling Bucky’s hips as they continued to kiss. 

Bucky moaned softly, his hands settling around Steve’s back as Steve’s pushed into his hair. Bucky did like that Steve took control--at times, Bucky could still be unsure of himself, and having Steve push them towards what he wanted had really helped Bucky fall into the rhythm of things again. He generally felt incredibly comfortable with Steve on top of him, because if there was anyone in the entire world that he trusted most, it was most certainly Steve.

But something was different this time... or maybe nothing was different and Bucky was just feeling strange, but just the slightest twinge of apprehension shot down his spine as they continued to kiss--Bucky ignored it, but he probably shouldn’t have.

His hands moved up Steve’s back, into his hair, and then Steve’s hands found his and laced their fingers together sweetly before letting their hands drop to the bed, Steve’s hands lightly pressing down over Bucky’s.

Then suddenly, something in his brain clicked and Bucky wasn’t in the room with Steve anymore. Suddenly, Bucky wasn’t even Bucky. He, the Asset, was being held down, restrained. He had just completed a mission, and after each mission, he was wiped, then frozen. Ever since the beginning, his eyes would sometimes catch on a pair of blue eyes in the crowd, he would feel a subtle twitch at the name Steve, and his handlers found it necessary to wipe him regularly. It didn’t hurt that when he was wiped every few days, it was impossible to put together details about his life or about the missions he was completing.

He hated the chair. He had been taught not to resist, because resisting only made it worse, only made the punishment grow, but if there was any time he ever felt fear, it was in that chair, it was being strapped in. Because what followed being strapped in was the worse pain he could fathom, was a jack hammer drilling into his brain, was a chisel breaking his skull in two, was napalm seering the backs of his eyes to burn away every image he’d gathered, scrambling the inside of his mind and it hurt and hurt and hurt, and if he could cry he would, and when he could scream he did because there were times when he’d rather die than be wiped again, and there were days when he hoped the wipe would kill him, though he knew that would never be allowed.

The anticipation was almost as bad as the pain as he was restrained in the chair, the torturous waiting for the pain to start, for it to finally end, and his body stiffened, tensed, trembling gently but not resisting, because the Asset had no desire to be punished. He swallowed hard and waited and waited and waited for the pain, and every second that clocked by only made him shake harder, made his heart hammer, made him dizzy because his chest was so tight that he couldn’t even breathe, and he just wanted it to be over, he wanted it to end, he wanted...

“Bucky.”

Steve’s voice cut through the fog, and Bucky’s eyes snapped open, sucking a sudden deep breath back into his lungs as he realized his surroundings, the slate blue of their bedroom walls, the soft cotton of the sheets beneath his back, and most importantly, Steve’s concerned face hovering over his. The man had climbed off of him, his hands touching Bucky’s face gently, thumb stroking across his cheek.

Instantly, Bucky was scrambling up and into Steve’s arms and Steve wrapped his arms around him tightly, kissed the top of his head sweetly.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly. He hadn’t meant to ruin the mood. He hadn’t meant to make Steve worry. This wasn’t the first time he’d slipped back into a bad memory, but it was the first time in months that he’d reacted so drastically because of it.

But Steve hushed him gently. “Shhhh... you didn’t do anything wrong. Just breathe.”

Bucky nodded and did as instructed. He forced himself to take slow breaths in, slow breaths out, the way his therapist had said he should, as Steve held him close, rocking him ever so slightly. Steve’s hands smoothed over his hair gently, and Bucky closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and took his time coming back to himself. Steve’s presence grounded him, soothed him.

“First one in a while, yeah?” Steve spoke up encouragingly, his voice even and calm.

Bucky nodded. The flashbacks had been far more common in his earlier months, both in the time he’d been without Steve and after his return. Since he’d started therapy, he’d been getting better, but things still weren’t perfect.

“I think it’s been over a month,” Steve commented as he kissed Bucky’s head gently. “Do you know what triggered it?”

Bucky frowned. He hated making Steve feel guilty for ever doing something that triggered a flashback... but the last thing either of them wanted was for it to happen again. His voice was soft as he admitted, “My hands being... pinned to the bed.”

And he felt Steve tense up, then felt him take a slow breath of his own before he nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, got it.”

Bucky had asked Steve not to apologize for setting him off. Making Steve apologize for doing something he couldn’t possibly know not to do only compounded Bucky’s guilt over the whole thing. Better to just learn what had happened and move on. Steve had been pretty good at doing just that and Bucky couldn’t be more grateful.

Steve held his firmly for a few more moments, rubbing his back and head. They’d originally planned to have some fun that evening, but neither of them were really in the mood anymore--but it didn’t mean that their evening together was worthless now. After Bucky had calmed down, Steve pulled back and smiled down at Bucky. “Hey, do you want to go try that mug thing I found earlier?”

On the internet that morning, Steve had discovered that one could make cakes and cookies and brownies and all sorts of delicious treats just by mixing ingredients in a normal coffee mug and heating it in a microwave. Steve had immediately checked their cupboards for various ingredients and realized they had everything they’d need to make mug brownies.

The very notion was amazing to Bucky. Heck, even the box mixes for cakes and treats had impressed him. What had once taken a couple hours now could be completed in barely thirty minutes--the mug treats condensed that time even more.

And if there was anything Bucky could use to cheer him up or even him out after an episode, it was food. Bucky was a sucker for anything tasty, and the 21st century had plenty of that to offer.

He still felt a little ragged from the memory, but he managed a genuine smile. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Steve helped them both out of bed, walked with his arm linked around Bucky’s into the kitchen in nothing but their underwear, and they made brownies together, leaning into and holding each other as they watched the mug rotate in the microwave and the timer slowly count down. Bucky leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder and issued a silent thank you to whatever force in the universe that had seen fit to give him Steve.

Some days were going to be better than others, they both knew that. Steve had had longer to adjust than Bucky, but even he had bad days and restless nights, and Bucky would always do anything he could to help Steve, just like Steve did for him. Steve said it was enough just having someone by his side who understood what they’d been through, knowing he wasn’t alone.

That was the biggest part of it, for both of them. They had each other, they had someone who was endlessly insistent on how much they deserved to be loved, and because of that, they knew they weren’t alone. As they fed each other bites of hot brownie from their spoons, missing each other’s mouth enough that there was chocolate on both of their faces, they could smile and laugh and move past the heavy memories that threatened to weigh them down together. 

So long as they were together, the bad stuff didn’t have to be so bad, because they’d make damn sure to make enough happy moments to tip the scales in their favor.


End file.
